Until the Seven Hells Freeze Over

Chapter 1- Arrival

The wind chilled you to the bone as you ran. Clawed at your face, swiped at your eyes, made it nearly impossible to see more than a few inches in front of you.

Yet you didn't slow your pace, not one bit. You couldn't afford to. Not while he was still chasing you, getting closer, closer, closer to catching you, to bringing you back home to do Gods know what...

You'd escaped your Winterfell cottage and run North. Not South, though the climate certainly would've been more forgiving, you thought to yourself as you ran. If you had chosen to run South, the air would be balmy and kind by now, gently whispering against your skin, filling your nostrils with a musky autumnal fragrance. You wouldn't be here shivering with your teeth gritting together mercilessly; the tips of your hair wouldn't be crystalized in snow and ice.

But you knew you couldn't go South. It was more dangerous, more foreign to you. The roads were more traveled, opening you up to encounters with strange and indecent men. North was safe, North was familiar, North was home.

You didn't stop running until you reached the Wall.

Castle Black stood before you like the gates of heaven. Your knees buckled when you saw it; you fought the urge to sob with relief. You would be safe here. These men swore an oath, gave their lives to a cause not steeped in riches and glamour, but duty and sacrifice. You didn't kid yourself-you knew the type of men who often pledged themselves to such a life, usually to avoid death-but their crimes were behind them. They were forced to start anew.

The wind picked up again, stinging your cheeks with another fearsome blow, and you pulled your worn black cloak tighter around you, your breath swirling in front of you in faint white clouds.

"Please, don't let them turn me away," you whispered into the empty air, hoping that someone, anyone-the Old Gods or the New-would hear you.

And then you knocked on the giant wooden doors that had stood since before the Seven Kingdoms were born.

It felt like hours went by before someone answered, though in reality it was most likely only a minute or two. You spent the entire time looking over your shoulder, scanning the frosty treeline for him, for any movement that could indicate someone nearby, watching.

Thankfully, you heard nothing.

Maybe he gave up, you thought to yourself. Maybe he turned around and went back to Winterfell. Maybe he'd accepted that you would never, ever be his bride, and returned to find a new woman, one who wouldn't jump out of a second-story window and run for days just to get away from him.

Of course, you didn't do such a thing unprovoked. In fact, when your parents announced the match, you were rather pleased. Timothy Stillwell was a familiar face, a handsome one at that, and he'd always been rather pleasant. It wasn't until you were both alone together that he showed his true colors, and then-then...

You abruptly pushed the memory out of your mind as the imposing front doors of Castle Black opened.

"Yes?" a deep, soft male voice said.

You turned away from the treeline to face the man, and once your eyes met his, you froze. You'd know this man anywhere; you'd known him all your life.

Standing in front of you was Jon Snow, the bastard son of the late Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell.

"Y/N?" Jon said quietly, barely louder than a whisper. "What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?"

You looked into his deep brown eyes; he looked at you, confusion and concern written plain as day across his face. You opened your mouth, tried to reply: help me, Jon, I'm begging you, is what you wanted to say. But as one second ticked by, two, three, you realized you were shivering too hard to speak. Your teeth were chattering too violently.

And the cold was making you very, very sleepy...

The last thing you remembered was Jon extending his arm to you, stepping out of the way so you could come inside, when the last of your strength gave way, and you fell.